


Holding This in Mind

by Sass_Master



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:50:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: There are times when Dean’s just luxuriating in the feeling of Cas’s fingers inside him and he’s not quite ready for that part to be over, and he wonders what it’d be like if they didn’t stop, if they indulged a while longer and then maybe took a step beyond that. What it’d be like to be that greedy about it, just take more and more andmoreof Cas’s fingers until… Well.





	Holding This in Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you guys seemed interested in this after reading [Whisper a Little](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995339) so... here we are.

There’s a lot to love about Cas, in Dean’s opinion – his thoughtfulness, his patience, his unwavering devotion, and that’s not even to mention the endless list of Cas’s physical virtues. Dean’s lost track of how many times he’s felt his heart skip a beat when Cas smiles at him, how often he’s been abruptly distracted by the flex of Cas’s bicep or the stubble lining his jaw. Mostly, Dean finds himself drooling over things that he kind of already knew did it for him, only now they’re doing a hell of a lot more for him because it’s _Cas._

But the surprising thing that Dean always come back to, what he spends more time daydreaming about than he could’ve ever predicted, are Cas’s hands. His beautiful, absurdly giant and elegant hands.

Dean figures maybe he’s had a half an eye on them for years now, but he’d always fallen back on every deep-seated instinct he had and forced himself to bury those thoughts, vehemently told himself he wasn’t imagining how it would feel for Cas to touch him, to _hold him_.

Now, though, there’s no fucking way he can ignore them. He’s intimately familiar with Cas’s hands, knows with explicit certainty how good it is to have everything he’d always pretended he didn’t want.

Dean can never really think straight when those hands are on him. Even something innocent or romantic is enough to get him tongue-tied – Cas’s palm supportive and warm on the small of his back, cradling his face, settling on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Cas’s fingers intertwined with his, when they’re grinning and sated in Dean’s bed, or crammed into a diner booth, their hands discreetly concealed under the table top.

It usually starts out innocent, at least, but it only takes one glimpse of Cas’s hand wrapped around his angel blade or deftly flipping through a lore book for Dean’s mind to take an abrupt, filthy detour. Just looking at them, broad palms and long, thick fingers, gives Dean all sorts of ideas. Sometimes the imagined fingers carding through his hair don’t just softly stroke but tighten and _pull_ in a way that makes him gasp, makes him ache for everything Cas can give him. And then he can so clearly picture Cas standing behind him and pressing up close, palms smoothing up his stomach and chest and then back down – then one hand dipping beneath Dean’s waistband and taking him in a firm grip, the other holding him in place. Or Cas’s hands huge and strong on Dean’s hip, the back of his thigh, digging bruises into his skin, holding tight as he pushes Dean around a little just the way he likes – laying him flat, pressing him down and making damn sure he stays there. The tips of his fingers teasing a nipple through Dean’s shirt until he’s squirming, tracing Dean’s lower lip until Dean eagerly takes them into his mouth.

And best of all, when he arranges Dean’s body to his liking and spreads his legs wide, Dean watching in shameless anticipation as Cas slicks his fingers up and slips them inside him. His touch is always careful but confident, his gentle, methodical ministrations relaxing Dean and working him up in equal measure, crooking his fingers with a sort of lazy precision that leaves Dean choking on a gasp with each movement.

It’s not long then until Cas is drawing back and slicking his cock up instead, Dean pulling him into a kiss as he bottoms out, and _goddamn_ that’s so fucking good, but… There are times when Dean’s just luxuriating in the feeling of Cas’s fingers inside him and he’s not quite ready for that part to be over, and he wonders what it’d be like if they didn’t stop, if they indulged a while longer and then maybe took a step beyond that. What it’d be like to be that greedy about it, just take more and more and _more_ of Cas’s fingers until… Well.

He’s appalled at himself the first time he thinks of it – taking the entirety of Cas’s hand – and he brushes the thought away almost the moment it occurs to him. Because that’s a crazy idea even for him, one of those unrealistic fantasies that he’d never _really_ act on, even if the thought of it never fails to get him hot and bothered.

Trying to mentally talk himself out of it works for about half a second; the idea lingers persistently on the fringes of his imagination for weeks, and it doesn’t take much for it to come floating to the surface. Cas unbuttoning his shirt. Cas’s fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Cas’s hand cupping Dean’s cheek. The more that the thought comes back to him – like in the shower, getting a hand on himself and coming with a strangled moan before he even thinks to stop – the more he realizes that maybe it’s not such an absurd fantasy after all. Maybe this is something he wants for real. And as he and Cas grow closer, Dean starts to feel like it’s something he could have. Ridiculous sexual whims don’t seem so ridiculous with someone he loves and trusts. Go figure.

Bringing it up to Cas is another matter altogether. After making such progress in admitting to himself what he really wants, that’s where he finds everything grinding to a halt. It’s not just summoning up the nerve to discuss it – though that’s a big stumbling block, for sure – but he’s literally not even sure how to go about explaining it.

There’s a word for it, obviously. Dean’s internet history is proof enough that he knows that. There’s a chance that Cas isn’t familiar with the term, but he’s smart and it’s, well, kind of self-explanatory. Still, it doesn’t feel right for what he wants, reminds him too much of the videos he’d stumbled upon in his covert browsing, those cheesy, gratuitous ones that don’t seem nearly as enticing as what he’s imagining. Honestly, some of the things he’s seen might be enough to deter him if he weren’t totally confident that things will be different with Cas. Better.

Of course, he has no idea how Cas will feel about all this, but Dean’s forced to admit that there’s only one way to find out. And even if Cas isn’t into it, Dean’s comforted by the knowledge that he’d at least hear Dean out and wouldn’t even dream of judging him. So as much as Dean would like to put the blame elsewhere, he knows that, as usual, any hang-ups or obstacles here are totally on him.

But Cas always makes it worth it to try get over those fears and insecurities. Dean’s finally letting that fact sink in, that Cas is unfailingly here for him, and nothing this inconsequential will ever change that. Now he’s just got to be the one to put the work in and take the first step.

All he has to do is summon up the courage. Cas will take care of the rest.

*   *   *

Courage eventually finds Dean one night when he and Cas are lying in bed together. Dean is _thoroughly_ satisfied, but he still breaks out in goosebumps at the sight of Cas trailing his hand along Dean’s bare stomach as they lounge beside each other, feels his heart speed up as Cas’s fingers skim absent-mindedly up his chest. It’s an innocent, soothing gesture – despite what the two of them were doing only moments ago – but Dean’s still a little sex-addled, so easily worked up by Cas’s hands on him, and his thoughts wander helplessly back to _that_ fantasy, the one that’s even more reluctant to leave him alone now that he’s stopped stubbornly pushing it away.

Dean swallows hard at the thought before deciding to reach for Cas’s hand. He lets his touch wander the way Cas’s had, brushing a thumb across his knuckles, tracing the tip of one finger along the rough skin of his palm. He tries to make it look casual, like he’s just seeking out that contact almost unconsciously, innately craving that feeling of Cas’s skin against his, but his brain’s working overtime trying to figure out how in the hell he’s supposed to voice what he’s thinking about. Because goddammit, he’s _actually going to try_.

“Love your hands,” he blurts out, breaking their comfortable science. Even that confession makes his face heat up, and he doesn’t quite look at Cas when he says it, just laces their fingers together and admires the sight of Cas’s tanned skin next to his.

“What about them?”

Dean’s not sure – can _never_ be sure – if Cas doesn’t see what he’s getting at, or if he’s just playing obtuse to see what Dean will admit to. There’s definitely that part of Cas that might be interested in a more specific compliment, but he might just want to hear Dean elaborate because he’s curious like that sometimes, wants to know every little thing about what Dean likes in explicit detail. It can be overwhelming, but once Dean gets past that, he has to admit it’s kinda flattering.

“Just lookin’ at ‘em,” Dean mutters, not meeting Cas halfway. Not yet, anyway. He’s feeling bold enough to meet Cas’s eye, and Cas has that look on his face, the befuddled but fond expression he reserves for when he thinks Dean’s being weird, but he’s so crazy about Dean that he’s willing to roll with it, even if he doesn’t quite follow.

“ _Just_ looking at them?” Cas asks coaxingly after a beat, confusion melting into smugness in the blink of an eye.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Dean mumbles awkwardly.

Cas seems to consider that for a moment. “Are they that appealing?”

“Dude,” Dean says with a laugh. “Obviously.” When Cas’s inquisitive expression doesn’t waver, Dean forces himself to continue. “I mean, you know they’re like… fucking gigantic, right?” That’s a safe enough observation to voice, instead of how capable and clever they are, how warm and secure they make Dean feel.

“I’ve never thought about it,” Cas says, glancing at his own hands with a slight smile, a faint hint of pride in his eyes.

“Well they are,” Dean says with more certainty now, encouraged by how pleased with himself Cas looks. “A guy could get all kinds of ideas.”

“Like what?”

Again, Dean’s at a slight loss. Cas could be fishing for something generic here, eager to start something up again – the way he’s looking at Dean might be an indication of that – or maybe he’s encouraging Dean to be more forthcoming about something specific. He’s awful good at that.

Dean hesitates. There are a thousand ways he could cop out on this, just brush the subject aside and take Cas up on his implied promise of round two. But he’s gotten too far now to squander this opportunity, so he forges ahead even as his heart pounds and his mouth runs dry. “Sometimes—” he attempts, licking his lips. “Sometimes I wonder…”

When he trails off, the look on Cas’s face sharpens. Dean’s pretty sure that the Cas is out of the bag and Cas knows something is up, but he doesn’t push Dean, just studies him intently and waits him out.

Dean’s almost embarrassed at how difficult this is. He’s always liked to think of himself as the sexually adventurous type – and he does have a few memorable encounters under his belt after all those years on the road – but he’s not usually the idea guy when it comes to experimenting between the sheets. If he ended up with someone who was a little on the creative side, he’d be more than okay going along for the ride because, hell, he’d be gone before morning anyway. He’s not used to voicing what _he_ wants, not anything beyond the general basics, the stuff that kinda went without saying once he was in a stranger’s bed with their hand deftly undoing his belt. He doesn’t usually stick around long enough to get himself past that and talk about something more personal. Focusing on who he’s with has always been easier. Safer. He’d learned early on that that kind of vulnerability has no damn place in an anonymous hookup.

But it’s different with Cas, has been from the very beginning. He can do this, he just has to man the fuck up. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he tries again. “Feels so fuckin’ good when you’ve got your fingers in me,” he mutters, amazingly steady despite the way his face is heating up. “And I kinda want more.”

The gleam is back in Cas’s eyes. “Oh, I know you do,” he says without missing a beat. “And I’m happy to give you more.”

Dean has a split second of panic – Jesus, how did Cas _know?_ – before he realizes that Cas has, understandably, misinterpreted Dean’s vague allusions.

“Yeah,” Dean says with a half-hearted laugh that falls completely flat. The subsequent silence is yet another chance to chicken out; it’d be so easy to be dissuaded, table this discussion indefinitely and let Cas act on all the filthy things that Dean can clearly see running through his mind.

But that’s just it. That’s what emboldens him: Cas making him feel so utterly, unconditionally wanted. Dean’s never exactly had a hard time coming by that kind of attention, but no one’s ever been as into _him_ – all of him, every flawed, painfully human part – as Cas is.

“You do,” Dean adds eventually. “But I mean more of—” His words start to fail him, so he takes Cas’s hand again, swallowing hard when he meaningfully looks Cas in the eye.

Dean can easily pinpoint the moment that Cas starts to get it, comprehension gradually dawning on his face. “How…” Cas says, slow and cautious. “How much more?”

Dean forces a nervous chuckle. “All of it?” he says, feigning uncertainty as if he’s not so completely, agonizingly sure about what he wants.

“My entire hand?” Cas asks neutrally, making sure he gets it.

God, just hearing that out loud in Cas’s deep rumble is already enough to get Dean squirming. “Uh,” he replies, summoning up a shaky smile. “Yeah.” He’s trying so hard to not seem too invested, because there’s still a part of him that’s worried about Cas’s reaction. Cas is definitely open-minded, but everybody’s got their limits. Then there’s the possibility that he might not be crazy about the idea but go along with it anyway because he knows it’s something Dean wants. There’s no way that Dean would be able to truly enjoy himself if that were the case, though Cas would no doubt make it good for him regardless.

“That’s…” Cas attempts, and Dean holds his breath waiting for him to continue. “Won’t that be too much?”

Cas doesn’t seem particularly surprised that what Dean’s asking for is a thing, or at least he isn’t disgusted by it now that he knows, he’s just… reserved. Dean takes it as a good sign – not an unexpected one, really, but it still makes him feel better, the tension in his body easing a little bit. “I mean, it’s… uh, doable.” Hell, a lot more than what Dean wants is possible too, based on some of the videos he’s seen, but that’s not exactly what he’s aiming for. He just wants as much of Cas in him as possible, without taking it to an extreme that’s unappealing.

Cas levels him with a suspicious stare. “You don’t sound sure.”

“I mean, I’m not _sure_ , but…” Just like that Dean’s feeling insecure again, struggling to find the words to plead his case.

Cas’s expression softens as he seems to pick up on Dean’s frustration. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says gently.

“You’re not gonna, Cas,” Dean says immediately, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes. Cas knows his limits well and listens readily to whatever concerns Dean might have; Dean’s not exactly worried about being hurt or pushed too far. Cas is so attentive, so concerned about his comfort and enjoyment. Dean wouldn’t exactly be asking for this if he weren’t. “Besides,” he adds after a beat, going out on a limb, “You know a little bit is okay,” he mumbles, feeling the blush spread across his face. It’s not that Dean thrives on pain, exactly, as much as the idea of things getting to that point. Dean doesn’t mind being driven to the threshold of too much and just barely crossing it – the feeling of Cas’s teeth on his neck, fingers tugging on his hair, the burn and stretch when Cas pushes inside him. He’s asking for more of exactly that.

“Well, if that’s something you want to do,” Cas says carefully. He didn’t seem completely skeptical before, just a bit unsure as he figured things out, but the hesitation in his eyes is fading rapidly, replaced by dawning curiosity, an unmistakable spark of intrigue that Dean is _very_ into. It was there all along, maybe, that part of Cas that might find something like this kind of enticing, just kept in check until he’s assured himself of Dean’s well-being.

“It is,” Dean says, surprising himself with how confident he sounds. “I wanna try it. Do you?” he asks.

And for all of Dean’s uncertainty, he knows without a single doubt that Cas’s murmured _yes_ is unequivocally sincere.

*   *   *

Now that they’ve talked about it, now that this is _actually going to happen_ , Dean can’t really say he didn’t expect Cas’s weird amount of professionalism about the whole thing.

That’s just how he operates. He’s plenty enthusiastic about trying new things with Dean, for sure, and he isn’t shy about showing it. But he’s also too level-headed to jump into anything without thinking about it, doing whatever research he needed to be satisfied – Dean can’t even imagine what that might’ve entailed in this case – and forming a plan to run by Dean beforehand. There might be some times when Dean questions Cas’s excessive preparedness, but this is definitely not one of them.

Talking it over, though. That was a mortifying conversation. Just bringing the subject up had been hard enough, but walking through the nitty-gritty details was a totally different story. But after he pushed past the initial embarrassment, it was honestly more of a turn on than anything else to listen to Cas describe _exactly_ how he’s going to get Dean ready to take him like this. Cas is gonna make this so good for him, take this on just because Dean asked for it. The whole _discussion_ thing is just part of it, and once the awkward part was over, Dean readily demonstrated to Cas just how grateful he was.

Now the moment’s finally here, and Dean has to force himself to breathe, keep himself in the moment even as he feels like he’s about to climb out of his skin, mind rapidly jumping ahead.

They start out as they’d agreed beforehand, Dean pressed back into the mattress with Cas inside him steady and deep. That always leaves Dean relaxed and pliant, but today they’re taking it a bit further, Cas working one of his fingers in alongside his cock, then another until Dean’s fuller than he’s ever been – and that’s not even close where he’ll be before the night is over.

Even this is fucking amazing, that little bit extra, a maddening tease of what’s to come. Dean’s honestly worried that he’s worked up enough to get off just from this and the torturous friction of his cock brushing against Cas’s stomach. That’s not part of the plan though, and Dean’s been determined from the get-go to hold off until the _main event_ because he’s pretty damn sure it’ll be worth the wait.

As good as this feels, he’s still kinda nervous. He tries to keep that under wraps, to only let his eagerness show so he doesn’t freak Cas out. Cas takes this kinda thing so seriously, almost _too_ seriously, but that’s exactly why Dean trusts him.

The tension was palpable when they started out, Cas sliding one finger in, both of them well-aware of where the evening was headed. That seems like it was hours ago at this point, and Dean knows Cas is trying to go slow, to fuck Dean even more thoroughly than usual, but Dean can see that it’s starting to wear on him.

God, Cas always looks incredible like this – that intensity and focus, working up a fine sheen of sweat, muscles working. Dean knows that Cas is close, right on that razor’s edge of pleasure but using his considerable self-control to keep himself there for as long as he needs to.

Dean wants Cas to just take whatever he needs, so he does whatever he can to encourage him, digs his fingers into Cas’s back, moans just a little bit louder than he usually lets himself because he knows Cas likes to hear it, determined to send Cas over the brink.

Dean knows he’s successful when Cas’s rhythm starts to stutter, the sound of Dean’s name on his lips suddenly urgent. Dean feels the anticipation as keenly as Cas does, feels like he’s shockingly close himself when Cas finally comes. God, that gets him stupidly hot every time, especially now when he hasn’t gotten off, arousal driven that much higher by the feeling of Cas pulsing inside him, his teeth on Dean’s neck.

He feels so damn empty when Cas pulls out, but, well, that’s certainly about to change. Cas doesn’t spend too long basking in the afterglow, because he clearly hasn’t forgotten about their plans either; he wastes no time in trailing his hand up Dean’s thigh and sinking two fingers inside him, tracing circles in fascination where Dean’s still wet and open. He’ll do this for ages if Dean lets him, chase his own come with his tongue and eat Dean out until he’s practically in tears – and that’s definitely not a bad thing, but they had other plans, and there’s no way they could stray down that path without both of them getting completely distracted. It took Dean long enough to work up the nerve to get them here, and he’s not about to get side-tracked now.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean pleads after a few moments, way too wound up to be teased like this.

Cas snaps out of it and glances sharply up at Dean, and his vague look of guilt slowly slips into something like apprehension. The fact that Cas is nervous, or at least as close to nervous as Dean’s ever seen him in bed, is somehow both jarring and reassuring.

Cas draws back and reaches for the lube as Dean turns onto his stomach. He stifles a gasp, the soft drag of the blankets on his erection fucking _unbearable_ at the moment. He takes deep breaths, painfully aware that he’s got an honest to god hair trigger right now, and tries not to squirm too much.

It’s hard not to, though, with Cas’s hand traveling up the back of his leg, desire settling hot in Dean’s gut, his heart pounding. Cas fucked him so good that he can slide three fingers inside easily, and, oh god, they’re fucking incredible as always, long and thick and curling just right. Dean’s rapidly passing the limit of pleasure into overstimulation, but he just rides that high, relies on Cas to see him through. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy it for now, still struggling not to move too much, helpless to stop his hips from lifting off the bed to meet Cas’s fingers.

Sooner than he would’ve expected, just this isn’t enough. “Cas,” he breathes, the plea for _more_ unspoken but no doubt understood. That was one of Cas’s conditions for this – _communication_ , Dean telling him what he needs, what’s okay and what isn’t. Talking’s not really Dean’s thing, but it still seemed like a worthwhile concession, which probably goes to show how bad he wants to try this, how far gone he already is. “I— You can—”

Cas teases a fourth finger alongside the others; he hesitates in a silent question, proceeds when Dean sighs _yeah, yeah_ and arches into it.

It doesn’t feel so different than before – like it’s so much, and yet, _still_ , not enough. He takes a minute to relax into it, melts under Cas’s gentle but insistent touch.

Just as Dean’s patience is wearing thin, Cas chimes in with a tentative, “More?”

Dean’s not sure if Cas is just trying to anticipate his needs or he’s starting to get eager himself. He considers Cas’s question, and, well. _More_ at this point is… it’s… it’s the most Cas can give him, and it seems damn near impossible but that’s exactly what Dean was after.

And now that they’re finally here, that thought speaks up loud and clear above the haze of nerves and exhilaration: he _asked_ for this? Is he fucking crazy? Allowing someone else have that kind of power over him, making himself that vulnerable, not just physically but emotionally too, and—he doesn’t know if he’s even gonna like it, if this isn’t the stupidest damn thing he could’ve come up with, but he went ahead with it anyway, Christ, he’s—

“Dean?”

He’s lost in a mix of guilt and gratitude hearing the concern in Cas’s voice. He instinctively feels bad for making Cas worry, but is also glad to be reminded that Cas cares enough to, y’know, be worried in the first place.

Dean opens his eyes, seeks out Cas’s, and he feels the tension drain from him almost immediately. There’s still some doubt, some lingering shame, but it’s overpowered, as usual, by the reminder that _it’s Cas_. It’s Cas. Dean would put his whole damn life in Cas’s hands. Of course he’d trust him with this.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean affirms, even as his voice quavers. He’s glad he sounds certain enough for Cas to take him at his word because he _is_ certain. He wants this.

There’s a brief pause as Cas makes sure his hand is slick enough, but then he shifts his fingers around and slowly, _slowly_ , starts to push forward, his other palm warm and firm on the small of Dean’s back.

Dean gasps sharply when the breadth of Cas’s hand finally slips inside him – the sensation is intense, but so is the excitement, the _idea_ of it, everything that made him fantasize about this in the first place. Cas immediately glances up at the sound, and Dean’s quick to nod his head frantically, biting his lip.

“Oh,” he sighs as Cas continues, “Oh, god.” He can feel every goddamn millimeter as Cas steadily works his way forward – it’s both exquisite and excruciating and Dean’s nearly losing it already. “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean groans loudly. “Keep going,” he assures Cas when he hesitates. Dean knows his reactions might be hard to interpret right now, and the last thing he wants is for Cas to stop.

Cas tucks his fingers in as he carefully pushes forward that last little bit, and then he’s fully seated inside Dean, his _entire fucking hand_. Son of a bitch.

Cas waits patiently while he adjusts, kissing whatever skin he can reach and rubbing soothing circles against his back. “Are you all right?”

“M’okay,” Dean mumbles, not able to articulate much more.

“You’re… _okay_?” Cas asks, and Dean can hear the skepticism, can picture the furrow in his brow, because that kind of wishy-washy bullshit is not gonna fly with Cas right now.

And Dean owes him honesty. At first, he wonders if maybe this wasn’t such a smart idea after all. He’s not sure if it feels good in the way he’d hoped. But before he says that out loud, he pauses to assess, to allow himself settle down and truly experience it, no shame or doubt or unrealistic expectations. Really, it feels like he thought it would, which is… a _lot_. It’s almost indescribable, the feeling of nearly unbearable fullness, stretched tight and making space for Cas. Letting him in – literally – in ways he never thought he could. It doesn’t hurt, exactly. Or maybe it does, but he’s been worked into such a state that his brain’s going haywire and he doesn’t know pain from pleasure anymore. All he knows is a blinding intensity that he either wants to run away from or absolutely cannot get enough of.

He’s struck by the flash of a memory, Cas asking if it won’t be too much. And it is, it’s _too much_ , but that was exactly what he’d wanted. He’d hoped that too much would be so unbelievably, mind-blowingly good—and as he shifts ever so slightly, whimpering when Cas’s hand brushes against every sensitive spot, he realizes that he was absolutely fucking right.

“I’m good,” Dean finally replies. He starts to relax into the mattress, but he can tell that Cas is still tense behind him, so focused on doing this right, taking such good care of him as always. Dean couldn’t even imagine being with anyone else like this. Maybe the amazing part isn’t the act itself, it’s putting his complete trust in Cas and being rewarded for allowing himself to be vulnerable – it’s a sappy, embarrassing thought that Dean would never dare utter aloud, but in the buried parts of his psyche he acknowledges that it’s nothing but the truth.

“Good?” Cas echoes, lingering concern in his voice.

“It’s—” Dean attempts, still at a loss for words, “ _God_ , I—” he trails off into a gasp as he shifts gingerly on the bed, rendered incoherent by the sensation of Cas’s hand inside him.

Dean’s glad that Cas takes his babbling for the positive affirmation it is, the tension easing from him as well. Good. Dean wants him to enjoy this too.

“You can…” Dean says vaguely, circling his hips more deliberately to get Cas started. He bites back a whine at the stretch and burn from even that little twitch of motion—he _fails_ to stifle a moan when Cas takes over, using only the barest movements of his arm, but goddamn, it’s incredible.

Cas starts to find a rhythm, tiny undulations that are driving Dean fucking insane, a gentle, minute back-and-forth that’s just enough for Dean to be constantly reminded of how ridiculously huge Cas’s hand feels inside him.

Cas hums thoughtfully, leaning in to kiss Dean’s shoulder. “Still okay?” he asks, not sounding worried, just checking in.

“I’ll tell you,” Dean says, too quick. He appreciates the concern, but all he wants is for Cas to keep going. “Just— Please—” Cas has to trust him too, that he’ll communicate what he needs to.

And Cas does just that. He doesn’t bring it up again, doesn’t ask if he’s _sure_ , just continues to steadily turn Dean into a babbling mess. The shock has almost entirely worn off by now, given way to a sharp, heady pleasure. Dean’s arousal is sent skyrocketing with every smooth slide of Cas’s hand until he’s dizzy with it. Cas pushes just a little bit deeper on every pass. Dean arches back into it, whimpering faintly at the unyielding pressure on his prostate, his cock aching for attention.

He’s starkly reminded that he hasn’t come yet, and he can’t resist grinding into the bedding anymore; that just deepens the thrust of Cas’s hand, and Dean’s need to come is suddenly urgent, inescapable. His impatient writhing drags the most sensitive parts of his cock against the soft blankets, just as Cas adjusts his hand to the _perfect_ angle, his knuckles brushing against just the right spot – the twin sensations slam into him at once, magnifying each other and coursing wildly through him and _fuck_ , he’s right there.

Dean shudders at the sound of Cas reverently breathing his name. Despite getting off already, Cas’s voice is deep and rough with arousal, and the sound of it only pushes Dean closer to the edge.

“Cas,” he says, frantic, barely getting the words out before he’s barreling towards climax. “I’m—”

He’s briefly disappointed when Cas eases his hand back just before Dean’s orgasm hits him, but with the way Dean’s hips lift off the bed, even with Cas trying to hold him still, it’s probably safer that Cas only has three fingers in him now, curling just so – and then he’s coming too hard to really care, snaking a hand beneath his body to stroke himself through it. He may not be as full right now, but he can still _feel_ that he was, and that idea alone just draws out his pleasure, spilling over his fingers and onto the sheets for what feels like ages before he finally starts to come down.

Dean’s in a daze for a while, blinking slowly, completely sunken into the mattress. _Goddamn_ , he thinks to himself over and over, at a loss for any other words, too raw and wrung out from overstimulation to talk about anything out loud either way. He’s only half-aware of Cas getting them cleaned up and coaxing Dean under the covers, melting further when Cas slips into bed behind him.

“Okay?” Cas asks, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice shaky. “Thanks,” he adds after a beat. It sounds awkward to his ears, and a hell of an understatement, but he damn well means it.

Dean’s still floating in that fuzzy state of mind, that sort of _can’t-believe-we-just-did-that_ haze that always takes him over when he finally acts on something he could barely even admit he wanted but liked way more than he expected. There’s a part of him that gets thrown off-balance too, his sense of self shifting, and he starts to wonder what something like this says like him, what this all means. But sometimes that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t scare him like it used to, doesn’t make him roll up to the nearest dive bar and take home the first agreeable chick he finds like he’s got something to prove. Even so, it can be a lot to process, but he knows he wouldn’t be handling it nearly as well as he is if he didn’t have Cas.

“My pleasure,” Cas replies, and Dean perks up at the promising heat in his voice. Maybe Cas got more out of this than Dean thought. Maybe this is something they could do again—or, who knows, one of his other absurd ideas that, upon reflection, isn’t as absurd as he thought.

He might feel different in the morning. The shame might find him then, when the endorphins and the afterglow are just a distant, happy memory. But he really hopes that moment never comes – he wants the inarguably good parts about how this feels to crowd out the bullshit like they’re supposed to.

He pulls Cas’s arm around him more tightly, gratified when Cas snuggles in closer. He just lets Cas hold him for a minute, a trace of a grateful smile on his face that Cas can’t see, but hopefully knows is there. He glances down at Cas’s hand resting against his sternum, gentle and tan and huge, and he almost gasps at the sight of it, the reminder. _Goddamn_.

Dean shifts in Cas’s embrace, sighing contentedly despite the twinge of sensation that sets off – or maybe because of it. He’s going to be feeling this for a while, not just the pleasant, physical ache, but the lingering warmth in his chest, the satisfaction and comfort that ease him into sleep before he can count to three.

*   *   *

Castiel found it… unsettling, at first. In all his long, long existence he’d come to expect that everything served a purpose, that rational thought was a sure path to a suitable outcome. Emotions had no place in his decisions, if he even allowed himself to feel them at all. For a long time, he didn’t. So beginning to care about things – to _want_ things – was something of a foreign concept to him. Of course, when he raised Dean from perdition, he became familiar very quickly. Even then, he found much of the sensory input that he experienced to be indecipherable, overcome by desires he couldn’t really explain— _still_ can’t explain, no matter how determined he is to unravel them.

Dean, in some ways, was the very first – a mysterious, visceral _tug_ that demanded his attention with striking urgency. In time, he learned how misguided he was to even want to ignore it, and how foolish he was to try. Castiel was inexplicably drawn to Dean when their paths first crossed, was led to rethink, to rebel, to change his entire world view. But the more time he spent with Dean, the more Castiel realized that his compulsion to be near him had strengthened and transformed into something else, something beyond anything he could have prepared himself for. A bond unlike what he had with others, a captivation that easily turned romantic once the conditions were right. He’d set himself up for it almost unconsciously, he understood upon later reflection, seeking close proximity to Dean in their less dire moments, already so weak for him that it wouldn’t take much – the bright flash of his smile, the joyous sound of his laughter, a brief glimpse of the freckles on his cheekbones – to have him falling beyond recovery.

And once he allowed himself to think about it, his genuine affection for Dean inevitably became entangled with sexual desire that blossomed exponentially once he took that step with Dean and was able to _act_ on his ever-distracting thoughts. Castiel can’t blame that base spark of lust on his human vessel, although he did at first. Now he knows first-hand that arousal is mostly mental, that his want for Dean transcends his corporeal form; it’s fueled by every experience and shared moment, just as compelling when Castiel is more akin to a wave of energy, an intangible force still capable of being overcome with longing.

But the need is still stronger when Dean is physically near to him, when Castiel is able to look at him, get even closer and _touch_. It’s less novel now, but still exhilarating to catch sight of Dean and experience such abject want, taken over by the inescapable urge to do something, sorely tempted to stop whatever he’s doing and get his hands and mouth on Dean’s bare skin as soon as possible.

It still surprises Castiel, if he dwells on it. After all he’s been through, those urges still defy all reason.  But if there’s anything he’s learned in his time on Earth, it’s that one doesn’t have to understand things in order to enjoy them.

He could likely articulate these feelings to some degree if he tried, though any explanation would be woefully inadequate. It’s immensely satisfying, of course, to give Dean pleasure, make him feel so good that he forgets all the dark thoughts in his head for a while and lets Castiel take care of him. But Castiel can’t call his actions entirely selfless when they make _him_ feel so good too. There’s something about seeing Dean sated and relaxed, or lost to the throes of passion, that gives Castiel a strange rush of power that’s all too infrequent, nowadays. But there’s more to it that’s beyond Castiel’s grasp, some inscrutable element that might not ever be fully clear, no matter how much he experiments and explores.

He knows it’s different for Dean. Dean’s not confused by his desires, but for all his experience, his painstakingly crafted façade of coolness or brazen enthusiasm, he is sometimes ashamed of them. He understands that part of himself perfectly well, but it’s clear that, far too often, he wishes that he didn’t.

Dean is both an enigma and almost comically transparent. He can project his desires like a beacon but be so vehement in his denial that it even seems convincing. At first.

Now Castiel knows better—he’s learned to work with Dean and do whatever he can to make things easier for him, methodically chip away at his armor and let him give into what he actually wants. Dean, as Castiel understands it, is grateful that he’s inquisitive, attentive, but always mindful that he can’t push too hard. Castiel is unshakably aware of how fragile this is; it’s more solid by the day, which is humbling and amazing, but he’s not willing to risk it.

Of course, he can only anticipate Dean so much. There are certain things Dean might have buried so deeply that even he might not know exactly what he’s after, or what he’s comfortable admitting to.

Castiel’s seen that inner turmoil quite a bit by now, those moments when Dean looks at him and so obviously _wants_ , desperate and hopeful, but Castiel doesn’t know what to do for him.

Right now is a perfect example. They’re half-dressed on their bed, and Dean feels so good beneath him, arching into Castiel’s reverent touch, humming appreciatively through their joined lips. Castiel opens his mouth enough to let his tongue slide against Dean’s, running his hand along Dean’s thigh to encourage him to part his legs wider, wrap them around Castiel. Castiel can feel how hard Dean is when their hips rock together, and that’s always so gratifying, always makes Castiel that much harder himself, responding eagerly to Dean’s arousal.

Abruptly, Castiel can feel a different sort of tension creeping into Dean’s body. He knows it’s not because Dean is uninterested in the proceedings. In Castiel’s experience, it’s probably the opposite—Dean likes this so much, has gotten so carried away that his mind’s been sent racing and veered into some other alluring fantasy. It’s fascinating to Castiel that Dean being so… _into_ this is precisely what gets him distracted. Castiel is patient, kissing Dean slow and heated, wondering idly what set Dean off. It can be the smallest thing sometimes. Dean has quite the active imagination with this, and Castiel can almost feel him struggling to stifle the thought. Or, the more difficult task, actually talk to Castiel about it.

Dean pulls back for a moment, licking his lips. It’s a nervous habit, Castiel knows, but the sight of it never fails to captivate him. He eyes Dean’s mouth with interest but, for the moment, resists the urge to lean in and kiss him again.

“I—” Dean attempts. “Uh.”

Castiel can see it all plainly written on his face: the hesitation, the doubt, the self-loathing. The longer Dean’s silence goes on, the closer he is to just shutting himself off completely and letting things go, Castiel’s sure of it.

But Castiel doesn’t want to let Dean walk away from something he desires, and sometimes making this easier on Dean means not just being passively open to his wants, but actively encouraging them. Castiel cups Dean’s cheek in his hand, looks at him until Dean meets his gaze instead of glancing away self-consciously.

He knows that Dean reads his expression correctly, realizes that Castiel’s caught onto his preoccupation. He still squirms under Castiel’s unwavering gaze, quiet again.

“I can’t read your mind,” Castiel reminds him, not unkindly. He wishes he could sometimes, relieve Dean of this burden and give him what he needs before he can even ask.

Dean chuckles faintly, relaxing, and the smile on his face is a welcome sight. “I know that, smartass,” he quips. “Not asking for that, I just— Just gotta work myself up to it, okay? Hold your damn horses,” he teases.

Castiel can see that, despite the sass, Dean is still on edge. Castiel’s grown accustomed to swift dismissals and stubborn denials from Dean, so he hadn’t expected Dean’s open admission of his struggle, or even the acknowledgement that he had something on his mind at all. He’s pleased that Dean is trying, that he’s sharing that with Castiel.

“Okay,” Castiel replies with a soft smile of his own—it’s meant to be reassuring, but he’s certain it only appears hopelessly fond.

After a few beats of silence, Dean clears his throat. “So,” he says vaguely, looking awkward.

Castiel smiles wider. “So.”

Dean laughs again, the tension in his frame easing by another fraction. “ _So_ ,” he repeats, hesitating for another moment. “Remember when we, uh…” He idly strokes Castiel’s arm, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. “With your hand?” He meets Castiel’s eyes, though Castiel can see that it’s not easy for him, fighting a grimace when a blush begins to stain his cheeks. Castiel knows that that reaction often embarrasses Dean, but Castiel can’t help but be taken by the picture he makes.

Castiel pauses to think, making sure he’s reading Dean correctly. They’ve done many things involving his hands, and he’s enjoyed every last one, continually amazed by all the ways he can bring Dean pleasure or comfort just from touch. Castiel’s not sure he’s ever felt more powerful, so in control and trusted.

But if Dean’s reaction is anything to go by, then Castiel knows exactly what Dean is asking about. “I remember,” he replies softly. As if Castiel could forget. That particular memory had become an almost guilty pleasure for him. Dean seemed to be all right with it at the time, but he’s always too good at downplaying his interest in that sort of thing for Castiel to ever be too sure. His own interest, however, has always been decidedly less ambiguous.

“Can, uh—” Dean stalls again, but Castiel is pleasantly surprised that Dean is still trying to talk it out when it’s fairly obvious to both of them by now what they’re discussing. “I just thought, you know. Maybe we could, uh. Do that. Again.”

Castiel tracks Dean’s emotions, watches his false bravado clashing with his inescapable discomfort, fading slowly into something calmer, his genuine ease with Castiel plainly written on his face. Then Castiel takes a beat too long to reply and a muscle in Dean’s jaw tenses, betraying the ever-present fear of rejection. Castiel hopes that one day Dean will understand, that Castiel would have no chance of denying him even if he tried. And especially not with this, when he’s secretly quite eager himself.

“You want to?” Castiel says, studying Dean curiously. It’s a welcome surprise that Dean liked it enough to do it again, that it wasn’t some frivolous novelty, explored simply for exploration’s sake. He’s not trying to embarrass Dean by confirming it out loud, he just needs to hear it again to be absolutely sure. Dean might need to hear it again too.

“I mean,” Dean’s eyes flick down to where Castiel’s hand is splayed over his chest. “Yeah. Unless you don’t want to, obviously. If you’re not into it, you know, it’s cool.”

Castiel leans in closer, lets his voice drop deep. “Let me be very clear. I am definitely into it.”

His enthusiasm puts a smile on Dean’s face. Sometimes that’s a big part of making it good for Dean, reminding him that Castiel enjoys it too and gets his share of attention—although it’s likely difficult for him to believe that Castiel gets so much out of focusing on Dean. And with something like this, even Castiel himself can’t exactly articulate what about it is so inescapably appealing to him, so it must be nearly impossible for Dean to understand what he gets out of it.

“Did you want to do that right now?” Castiel asks, almost without meaning to. He’s not trying to sound so transparently eager, but his imagination is already starting to run away with him.

The spark in Dean’s eyes tells Castiel that he’s not alone. “Sure, yeah,” he says, breathless. He swallows hard, his grip on Castiel tightening. “I mean, carpe diem or whatever, right?”

He’s aiming for flippant and cocky, as he so often is, but it’s easy for Castiel to tell how Dean’s simmering with arousal at the idea of it. Castiel’s in a similar state, now that he’s imagining it, granted permission to indulge.

“Or whatever,” Castiel agrees, Dean’s palpable excitement fueling his own, making his heart pound.

Castiel is undoubtedly open to trying it again. Often enough he’ll be the one to bring these things up so Dean doesn’t have to – that always seems to be much more of an undertaking for Dean. Castiel has no issue with asserting his interest if it can help put Dean at ease with his own. But Dean’s surprised him this time. The fact that Dean was willing to broach the topic on his own says a lot, not just about his personal growth, but also how profoundly the idea still appealed to him.

It had been hard for Castiel to let himself acknowledge just how much he’d ended up liking it himself when he couldn’t be completely certain where Dean stood. There’s no misunderstanding Dean’s feelings now, the underlying need palpable as he gazes into Castiel’s eyes.

Dean warm and pliant beneath him, that’s a familiar thrill, but the heady rush of power over the thought of what they’re about to do is still new. Dean _liked_ it, letting Castiel fill him up as much as he possibly could. Castiel can’t wait to get to that part.

He’s perfectly content with Dean’s mouth for the moment, kissing him slow but heated. That elicits a gratifying hum of contentment from Dean, and Castiel answers with one of his own as Dean’s hands grip his shoulders, stroke down his back. Kissing Dean is always as relaxing as it is very much the opposite – his body warm and inviting, equally calming and tantalizing. It would be so easy for Castiel to lose himself in this, but he’s determined to stay focused.

They had everything mapped out last time, for Castiel’s benefit as much as Dean’s. He’d been nervous then too, in a way he’d never really felt, even in battle – in a sense, this was more important – but he was determined not to let it show, for Dean’s sake.

Castiel isn’t entirely at ease right now either. One attempt is never enough to make him complacent or assume mastery with anything, no matter how quickly he takes to it, and certainly not with anything like this. He’s still starkly aware of how much care this requires, how much trust Dean is placing in him. He takes this just as seriously as he ever has, if not more, trying not to rush despite his own impatience.

Castiel reverently divests Dean of his clothing, eyes roaming greedily over every newly-revealed inch of flesh. The sight of Dean bare and exquisite never fails to take his breath away. He sheds his own clothes when Dean plucks at them insistently, reveling in the sensation of Dean’s soft skin against his.

Castiel trails his lips from Dean’s cheek down to his jaw and further. Dean readily tilts his head back, exposing his neck in an invitation that Castiel can’t resist. Castiel presses his mouth to a particularly sensitive spot, satisfied by the pleased little hum that Dean lets out, his breath speeding up, pulling Castiel closer and arching up against him.

Dean sighs as Castiel caresses his chest, tapering off into a hiss as Castiel swipes his thumb across one of Dean’s nipples, lingers there and rolls it between his fingers as Dean stifles a curse. Castiel wastes no time trailing lower, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s stomach, the delicate skin of his inner thigh. Dean squirms at the brush of Castiel’s unshaven cheek, parting his legs wider to encourage Castiel’s attentions. It isn’t always easy for Dean admit that he’s allowed to feel good, to want something like this and to have it, so Castiel is pleased to see Dean letting go and so openly enjoying himself. Castiel is rather enjoying himself as well.

Castiel craves Dean in a way that he’s still getting accustomed to, and he can’t help but get greedy with Dean beneath his fingertips, always wants to have more of him and give him more in turn; it’s only logical that he’d like what they’re about to do. He liked it so much the first time that he’d surprised himself, but he can’t deny the heady sense of power it gave him, that same rush that courses through him now as he slides a palm across Dean’s hip and Dean watches with undisguised interest, licking his lips. Even when he realizes he’s been caught staring, he only smiles sheepishly and huffs out a laugh. A bit embarrassed at being so unsubtle, maybe, but not trying to irritably play it off. Of course, at this point, Dean’s fascination isn’t exactly a secret.

Castiel had never thought of his hands as anything special – they were utilitarian, if anything, adequately skilled and strong, capable as they needed to be. They were reliable in combat, useful for practical reasons, but nothing much more profound than that.

Dean obviously thinks differently. Castiel had suspected as much for a while, but it’s flattering as always to have confirmation, to know how much Dean wants him. It’s a desire he doesn’t suppress – not anymore – and he doesn’t want to. He wants Castiel to _know_ , more concerned about Castiel’s self-esteem than his own self-consciousness, and Castiel is not about to let that transparency go unrewarded.

Dean has lovely hands too. Strong but gentle, proportional in size and shape compared to the rest of him— and Dean happens to be nicely sized and shaped, in Castiel’s opinion. But now that Dean’s made him aware of it, he’s begun to realize that his own hands are just a bit bigger than Dean’s, that the tips of his fingers edge out Dean’s when they press their palms together, enough of a difference in width to be noticeable.

Noticeable to Dean, especially. Castiel’s starting to appreciate how a hand skimmed across Dean’s smooth, bare skin will make it break out in goosebumps, how his eyes widen when Castiel’s fingers tighten around his wrist, how he’ll chase Castiel’s fingertips when he traces them along Dean’s lips. Or how, when Dean’s hard and needy, Castiel can wrap a hand around him and just hold it there for a moment, letting Dean squirm, torn between thrusting into the sensation and patiently waiting still, before Castiel starts to stroke him.

Castiel’s tempted to do exactly that right now, with Dean’s rapt attention focused on his hands, even more so than usual. Castiel lets one finger trace the length of Dean’s cock just to see him gasp and buck up into it. He drops a few more lazy kisses on Dean’s hip bones, sensing his impatience before it’s even voiced.

“Not getting any younger here, Cas,” Dean grumbles. He was aiming for humor, perhaps, but Castiel can feel the faint tremor running through him, the slight waver to his voice that betrays his arousal.

Castiel pointedly leaves another love bite on Dean’s thigh before shifting back up so they’re face to face. “Don’t rush me,” he murmurs into Dean’s ear, tugging his hair in playful chastisement. It’s not an actual reprimand, but Castiel never fails to be enthralled by the way that makes Dean break out in goosebumps, a flush starting high on his cheeks and spreading down to his chest.

“Well excuse _me_ ,” Dean scoffs. His annoyance is all sarcastic exaggeration, but the smile he breaks into is completely genuine.

Castiel smiles back and ultimately gives into Dean’s urging. He’s rather anxious to get on with it himself. He does get distracted by Dean’s mouth for a moment – Dean doesn’t seem to mind delaying for _that_ – before he can break away to open the nightstand drawer.

When he has what he needs, he settles back on the bed, braced over Dean so he can tease him with his slick fingers before slipping one inside him. Dean hums indulgently at the feeling, still agreeable and pliant for all his griping to _get on with it_ , merely savoring the moment. He curls one hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and urges him to lean in until their lips meet again. It always warms something in Castiel to know that Dean’s secure enough to ask for this intimacy, to take it for himself because he doesn’t fear being denied.

Castiel slowly works his hand back and forth, the initial tightness rapidly easing from his ministrations. Feeling the heat of Dean’s body makes Castiel starkly aware of how hard he is, wishing he could bury himself inside instead.

That was what they did the last time. Castiel had tried to be thorough, to dedicate himself to it completely, but it was obvious that they were both preoccupied. He found himself spent sooner than was typical for him, allowed to get lost in it knowing that Dean wanted to put his own pleasure on hold. He can’t deny that thinking about what they were going to do might have driven him to the edge sooner as well.

Now his arousal feels almost inescapable, but he lets that desire spur him on instead of leading him off course. There will be other times for that—staying grounded and in control is what’s important.

He can be methodical beginning to end this time, string Dean along a bit because they both enjoy that. He can take the opportunity to go slow because that’s what he needs to do to get Dean ready, despite Dean’s insistence and his own waning patience.

Castiel eases his finger out and in again, deeper and deeper, building up a steady rhythm until he hears Dean’s breath quicken, the flush staining his cheeks burning brighter. He adds another finger before Dean can ask – Castiel knows he was about to, already fidgeting restlessly, wanting Castiel to give him more. He takes the added stretch easily, used to having Castiel like this and palpably eager for it, sighing out his pleasure. There was a time when Dean was reluctant to enjoy this; he ultimately couldn’t stop himself from liking it, but he was still hesitant about showing it. It makes Castiel all the more determined to make this good for him.

Castiel crooks his fingers and watches in satisfaction as Dean’s cock twitches against his stomach, starting to drip. He does it again and again until Dean’s panting and pushing back into the pressure, letting out an uninhibited groan as he chases the sensation. Castiel wonders if this feels better for Dean than it usually does or if he’s just letting go, liberated for once. It’s a pleasant thought, one that makes Castiel feel freer too.

Castiel takes his time working in a third finger and a fourth. So often this is just means to an end, but Dean is obviously enjoying himself. Castiel is also content, for now, to indulge in it for its own sake. He watches the width of his knuckles pressing against Dean each time he moves his hand forward, so close to slipping inside. He keeps at it until Dean’s pliant and open and it seems possible to continue, though he’ll still have to be careful.

“Cas,” Dean gasps. Castiel can read the urgency in his voice clearly, how he’s so worked up already, just from the thought of what’s to come. He rolls his hips to meet each stroke of Castiel’s fingers, needing Castiel to give him more. He can’t stand to be teased anymore, and frankly, Castiel can’t take this for much longer either.

Castiel withdraws for a moment to make sure his hand is sufficiently slick, and the brief reprieve seems to bring some of Dean’s wits back to him. “So how do you want me?” Dean jokes, still sounding breathless and dazed, but his smile is looser than before, his humor less forced. Castiel is proud that Dean was able to get there, and that Castiel helped him do it.

Castiel just wants Dean to be comfortable, but all things being equal, he’d rather be able to look at his face, watch him and worship him properly. “Can you stay like this?”

“Think so,” Dean replies. Castiel’s glad to see that Dean’s taken the question as a genuine inquiry, not a request, and doesn’t give the answer he thinks Castiel wants to hear.

“If you can’t…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Dean says with a laugh. “Should be okay though.” The brief flicker of humor in Dean’s expression is quickly replaced by raw desire. Dean would tease Castiel and call him _sappy_ for wanting to look into Dean’s eyes while they do this, but Castiel’s sure that Dean likes the idea for exactly the same reasons—it might even mean more to him than it does to Castiel.

Castiel gently encourages Dean to bring his knees up and crowds in as close as he can, wary of putting too much strain on him. Although if Dean is feeling any discomfort he doesn’t seem to mind, eagerly pulling Castiel in to kiss him.

Castiel works his fingers back inside Dean easily, resuming his measured pace. He finally starts to inch further, excruciatingly slow, giving Dean as much time as he needs to get used to it. When he’s up to the widest part of his hand, he hesitates, rocks back and forth a few times trying to decide when to keep going.

“You can—” Dean says abruptly, “You can give me more.”

“More?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “I can take it.”

That’s always intriguing, Dean’s desire to prove himself and accept everything Castiel has to give. “I know,” Castiel reassures him. It’s surprising how much Dean asks him for sometimes, that he wants his limits tested, likes it when Castiel isn’t as gentle with him. He likes the gentleness too, of course. Castiel’s partial to both himself. It’s mystifying how that works – they seem contradictory, but each has its own undefinable appeal.

He complies with Dean’s request, moving incrementally deeper, as slow as he can manage and still be moving. He vigilantly tracks Dean’s reactions, every twitch of muscle and eyelid flutter, categorizing each gasp and moan – he knows the nuances of them so well by now, but Castiel’s exhilarated to realize that there are still new ones to discover.

When Castiel’s up to the width of his knuckles and pushes forward that last bit, Dean goes still and sucks in a sharp breath. Castiel looks at him intently; his eyes are shut tight, his brow furrowed, but ultimately, he’s not asking Castiel to stop. Castiel pauses for a moment until Dean’s face relaxes, then continues pressing forward. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully inside, fingers delicately curled, his whole hand stretching Dean wide.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dean says, sounding strained.

That could be a good sign, or a bad one, or even both. Castiel studies his face, his bitten lips, the sweat beading at his hairline. “Dean?” he asks, needing to be sure.

“G—” Dean attempts and nearly chokes on his own air. “Gimme a sec.”

“Of course,” Castiel replies fervently. He has to tamp down his protective instincts and not overcorrect, counting on Dean to tell him if he needs to stop.

As he waits, Castiel is awed anew by the idea of what they’re doing. It shouldn’t even be possible for Dean to take him like this, and it’s incredible that Dean would even want to try, would want to do it _again_. It’s humbling, terrifying, thrilling to discover that it would take him apart like this, and that’s okay as long as Castiel is there to put him back together. As if he’d be anywhere else.

Dean lets out a breathless _God damn_ , voice still shaky but with an audible trace of a laugh.

Castiel smiles gently and leans in to kiss him slow and indulgent. Dean hums happily and lets his tongue flick against Castiel’s, starting to shift restlessly, pushing into the pressure of Castiel’s hand. When Castiel pulls back and looks at him expectantly, Dean nods and says _Yeah_ , kissing Castiel again as he starts to gently rock his hand back and forth. Even such miniscule movements are enough to have Dean alight with sensation, and it’s not long before Dean is breaking away with a gasp and a stifled curse.

Dean feels so impossibly tight around him, but he looks surprisingly relaxed, lips parted, breath steady. What little tension he has is from excitement, not apprehension, and the trust that Dean has in him, no worries or hesitation, is enough to leave Castiel reeling.

Castiel is captivated by the undisguised eagerness on Dean’s face – his eyes too bright, flitting between half-lidded and opened wide, mouth slack with pleasure. Castiel can track every tic and response, the pink flush suffusing his cheeks, traveling down his neck.

“How does that feel?” Castiel asks, almost without meaning to. Dean’s arousal is evident, but a part of him just needs to hear Dean say it.

“It’s—” His breath hitches.  “It’s… a lot.”

“Is it good?” Castiel has his suspicions, but he’s anxious to hear it.

“God,” Dean says with an almost hysterical bark of a laugh. “Yeah. It’s so good, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart swells at how much more confident and enthusiastic Dean sounds, how he’s less mired in shame and self-doubt. He dares to pick up his movements then, apparently hitting all the right spots based on the way Dean whines, _Jesus, Cas_ , staring up at Castiel looking almost shaken. Castiel wasn’t able to see this last time, Dean’s candid, wide-eyed expression of pleasure. He didn’t expect Dean to gaze at him in such thrall, actively seeing eye contact with something like desperation, overwhelming need he can no longer keep hidden, giving himself over to Castiel completely. Castiel is awed and empowered by the sight of him, the way he clutches Castiel’s shoulders to bring him closer, making a soft noise when their mouths meet, arching into it.

Castiel breaks away to take a breath, to press his lips to Dean’s flushed cheeks. “Are you close?” he asks, murmured against his stubbled jaw, pulse pounding beneath Castiel’s lips. He already knows the answer – he can discern that quite easily now, read the restless twitch of Dean’s muscles, the particular pitch and cadence when he cries out. He might not quite be able to make it over the edge without further stimulation, but it wouldn’t take much, and isn’t that a heady thought, that this is enough to get him almost all the way there. Maybe at another time or in different circumstances, Dean could reach orgasm from this alone.

Dean mumbles something, a slurred, half-formed word that Castiel takes as assent.

He draws back to greedily drink in how utterly wrecked Dean looks right now – the sight of him alone is almost enough for Castiel to come undone himself.

Dean locks eyes with him, and the urgency in his gaze burns Castiel up from the inside. “Keep—” Dean starts, cutting off with a choked gasp when Castiel angles his hand just so. “Keep going,” he insists, reaching down to take himself in hand. “Please,” he adds, almost inaudible, but Castiel is too tuned into him right now to miss a single detail.

Still, for a moment he hesitates, the same concerns crossing his mind as before, accidentally hurting Dean when he’s too overwhelmed to control himself. But now that the thought has entered his mind there’s no expelling it, and he can’t deny he likes the idea of it, making Dean come when he’s so full like this.

“Do you think you can stay still this time?”

Dean licks his lips and nods. Castiel’s pleased but not surprised by his reaction, that eager look on his face when Castiel gives him _parameters_. Whether or not he’s sure he can do as Castiel asks, he’s clearly determined to try.

Castiel works his hand in just a bit deeper, faster, matching the pace of Dean’s strokes. “Fuck,” Dean groans at the sensation. “ _Fuck_.” He tries to keep his gaze fixed on Castiel even though he’s abruptly hurtling towards orgasm, holds it until the very last moment when he’s forced to squeeze his eyes shut, overcome. Dean would deny it if Castiel said it aloud, but he’s unfathomably beautiful in that moment, head thrown back, neck temptingly exposed, chest heaving.

The way he cries out takes Castiel’s breath away. If he’s trying to stifle his voice, he doesn’t manage it, the sound unrestrained, some primal part of him laid bare. Castiel treasures the privilege of seeing him like this, tipping over the edge, pulsing hard and fast over his fingers, every muscle locking tight and spasming – Castiel can feel that intimately, the tangible evidence of the pleasure coursing through his body. It seems noticeably more intense for Dean than usual, even more than the last time they did this. Dean whines his name as he rides it out, and Castiel never tires of hearing that. It’s a long time before Dean is able to come down from that high, shaking finely once the aftershocks have subsided, collar bones shining with perspiration, stomach streaked with his release.

“Oh my god,” Dean says when he catches enough breath to speak. When he looks up at Castiel, even that veneer of carefree humor and enthusiasm has been stripped away for the moment, leaving only inescapable vulnerability beneath.

Castiel draws back and pulls his hand away as gingerly as he can, seeking out some tissues to clean up. He gives Dean a moment to compose himself but returns to him quickly, knowing Dean needs that closeness too, far more than he needs space.

He stretches out above Dean, slotting between his legs, and Dean eagerly welcomes him back in to kiss him, still thrumming with raw need even after he’s come. In the back of his mind, Castiel knows he should pause to check on Dean, but he’s too worked up to think it through clearly. Normally he can hold off for quite some time without much trouble, but he’s so hard it’s almost unbearable, and with Dean breathing encouragement into his ear, _yeah Cas c’mon_ , it’s definitely much more difficult to stop. He can’t quite help pressing against where Dean’s wet and open, not pushing inside, just sliding along the soft heat of him and gasping at the sensation. It’d be so easy to slip inside Dean right now. He’s not sure if Dean is looking for that, but he doesn’t have time to really consider it or ask Dean what he wants before he’s lost to his building arousal, groaning against Dean’s mouth and nipping at his lip as he comes, chasing the friction of Dean’s spent, slick body, making even more of a mess of him.

Castiel knows that Dean will want to shower soon but not-so-secretly revels in this for the time being, so Castiel spends a few long minutes kissing him languidly, aware that Dean needs that intimate contact. They both do.

Eventually, Castiel pulls away for a cursory clean up, just enough for him to gather Dean into his arms more comfortably, settling on his side so they can lie face to face.

“Jesus,” Dean says after a few beats of silence, dissolving into a laugh.

His smile is infectious as always, and Castiel chuckles along with him. This isn’t a façade or deflection, it’s open euphoria and affection, and the sight of it makes Castiel’s heart beat wildly.

Dean sobers quickly, but not in that self-conscious, self-hating way that Castiel is so unfortunately used to seeing. “I’ve never, uh—” Dean attempts. “It’s never…”

He trails off, unable to find the words or courage to continue, but Castiel understands; there was something earth-shattering about this for him too, even if his relationship with sex is different than Dean’s, even if he participated in a very different way. He reaches down to thread his fingers through Dean’s, squeezing Dean’s hand in his, kissing it to show his message is received. “I liked that,” he says, and the admission makes Dean smile to himself.

“Yeah, I could tell,” Dean teases. He stares at Castiel thoughtfully for a moment before he continues, voice a bit softer. “You’re awesome, you know that?”

It doesn’t always feel that way to Castiel, but when Dean says it, it’s easier to think that could be the truth. If Dean can look at him the way he’s looking at Castiel right now, then he must see something worthwhile, and who is Castiel to question his judgment?

Castiel reaches out to tenderly cup Dean’s face in his hand, thumb stroking one sharp, delicate cheekbone. “So are you,” he replies – much like Dean, he tries to keep his tone light, but he can’t convincingly conceal the depth of his sincerity.

It wasn’t so long ago that Dean would immediately protest such a sentiment, downplay it and push it aside. Castiel’s chest feels warm with pride when Dean blushes and fidgets, seems to resist rolling his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. Castiel takes that as a good sign.

*   *   *

Castiel wakes as he often does, slowly and reluctantly. He tries to shift over, slip up behind Dean and drift back to sleep, but to his annoyance he only finds a warm, empty spot where Dean’s body used to be. Castiel feels a reflexive pang of concern for Dean, but he tamps it down long enough to go about his morning routine before rushing off to look for him.

He finds Dean in the kitchen, whisking a bowl of eggs and humming vaguely to himself, oblivious to Castiel’s arrival. Castiel takes a moment to admire him, his strong shoulders, the curve of his legs, the freckles on the back of his neck, but before long Castiel can’t keep his distance anymore, crosses the room and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist.

Castiel briefly worries about catching Dean off-guard, but he only laughs fondly when Castiel presses against him. “Morning,” he says. “I’m making omelets.”

“You should be in bed with me instead,” Castiel grumbles. Omelets sound nice, but being wrapped up with Dean beneath the blankets sounds even better.

“I was,” Dean says with a snort. “But I got hungry waiting for your lazy ass to get up.”

Castiel doesn’t dignify that comment with a response, just closes his eyes and buries his face further in Dean’s neck, leans against him more heavily.

“Are you even awake back there?”

Castiel only lets out a low him in reply, admittedly lulled by how soft and warm and comfortable Dean is.

Dean laughs again and twists in Castiel’s hold, playfully pushing him away. “Go drink your coffee before you pass out on me.”

Castiel catches Dean’s wrist before they’re separated too far. “In a minute,” he murmurs, keeping Dean in a loose embrace, taking a moment to revel in their closeness, the heat of Dean’s hands through his t-shirt, his whisk abandoned in the bowl. “How are you?” he asks. He may not have gotten much out of Dean the last time he tried to talk about this, but that won’t keep him from trying again.

There’s a split second where it seems that Dean doesn’t know what he’s asking, then an inscrutable look manifests on his face when it dawns on him.

“I mean—” he says with an awkward cough, cheeks turning pink. “Y’know. Still, uh. Feeling it.”

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly. He runs his hand up and down Dean’s arm soothingly, cringing inside at the thought that he might’ve hurt Dean.

Dean’s expression softens, even as his blush grows deeper. “Wasn’t complaining, you know.”

Castiel instantly perks up at the confession. “Really?” he asks, not even trying to disguise his intrigue. Castiel likes the idea of that too, Dean reveling in that pleasant ache, that reminder of how good Castiel made him feel.

Dean shrugs with a half smirk, a hint of mischief in his eyes, and says nothing, which is enough of an answer for Castiel. It’s not a denial or a brush off as he’s become so accustomed to—this is Dean being as open as Castiel ever sees him. It’s still personal and intimate, but it’s a secret he’s eager to share, rather than being too embarrassed to admit it, even to Castiel. It’s more akin to his reactions the night before, and it seems indicative of a trend, of consistent progress in a positive direction, of growth. Castiel is as proud of Dean as he is grateful to be allowed in like this.

Castiel has to kiss Dean then, slow and thorough, too deep and passionate for a quick good morning peck, enough to leave Dean looking a little dazed and a lot pleased when they finally part.

“What was that for?” Dean asks, chuckling self-consciously. It’s amazing that after everything they’ve done, unexpected affection can still catch Dean off-guard, fluster him and make him blush.

Castiel shrugs and smiles to himself, much like Dean did a moment ago. “I wanted to.” _I love you_ , he thinks, though he doesn’t say it out loud just then. But he intends to eventually, as often as Dean is willing to hear it. “Do I need more of a reason than that?”

Dean smiles then too, that understated, almost shy iteration that seems to be exclusively reserved for Castiel. “Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

And even if Dean doesn’t voice it out loud either, Castiel knows without a shadow of a doubt, can see plainly in Dean’s eyes, that he feels the way Castiel does.

Words can be powerful, devastating, uplifting, but they’re not the only thing that matters. The way Dean pulls him in and kisses him, the way he’s welcomed Castiel into his life and given him his trust, that’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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